


the serpent with the empty eye

by apollothyme



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempted Murder, First Kiss, Fix-It, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme
Summary: When he is a child, the mark takes up the majority of his chest.It’s a long winding spiral with triangles decorating its length and an empty dot in one of the ends. He spends many a moment in his youth tracing it with his chubby fingers, staring in contemplation at the black ink unique to him and him alone.Well, not just him. His mother says there’s another person in the world with the very same mark as him. Still, as far as Noland knows, no one on his island has the same mark as him.
Relationships: Calgara/Montblanc Norland
Comments: 40
Kudos: 117





	1. let our formulas find your soul

**Author's Note:**

> Having read One Piece many times, I have come to the definitive conclusion that Noland and Kalgara are genuine soulmates, which then led me to think - well what if I wrote an actual soulmates AU? And here we are! This is also a fix-it because I believe in Love.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful friends for all the love and enthusiasm they have shared with me. It is deeply appreciated ❤️

When he is a child, the mark takes up the majority of his chest.

It’s a long winding spiral with triangles decorating its length and an empty dot in one of the ends. He spends many a moment in his youth tracing it with his chubby fingers, staring in contemplation at the black ink unique to him and him alone.

Well, not just him. His mother says there’s another person in the world with the very same mark as him.

”Everyone has a match,” she says, showing him the cedar tree on her ankle. The same cedar tree they have in their backyard, with the hole near the base where a family of owls has made a nest. The same cedar tree Noland’s dad has on his arm.

Still, as far as Noland knows, no one on his island has the same mark as him. 

The long spiral. The empty eye matching the colour of his pale skin. The markings across its body. _A snake._

Noland’s not quite sure what it means to have a snake for a mark. Most people he knows have more harmless things like birds or flowers or even ships. There’s not a lot of information available on the meaning of specific marks, with most books instead focusing on the concept of marks as a whole. What there is, Noland devours, reading every book in their town’s library on the subject.

The books have explanations – theories, really – but none seem to match, with every author sharing a different line of thought. Some say the marks reveal a piece of your inner psyche. Others think it's a shared desire. And then some call it the mark of fate, something that connects you to the other person who shares your mark.

Noland thinks that those theories make the most sense out of them all. His parents, after all, talk of their love like it was inescapable and the cedar tree has been a part of his family house for generations. The mark, at least for them, is a connection point.

“Seeing her for the first time was like being struck by lightning,” says Noland’s dad, who has never been struck by actual lightning and thus probably shouldn’t be making the comparison.

He is not the only one who says such things, however. Many people refer to the marks as signs from the gods, as the reason why their blood courses through their bodies, as proof of something holy in all of them. A mark usually means a romantic bond, though Noland has heard of platonic bonds as well. Usually, though, it’s something special and potent. Something bigger than life itself.

Noland is not quite sure what to believe.

He is, from a young age, a being of science. Rational. Logical. He enjoys puzzles and challenges and empirical proof. 

He doesn’t know what to think when people point to the sky and talk about gods, as if there could be people living in the clouds. In fact, it takes him a long time to learn it’s not always appropriate to teach people about the property of clouds when they point to the sky.

His parents quickly get exasperated with him, his teachers think he’s a bit of a know-it-all, and his friends don’t seem to get him, but eventually with age Noland figures out that sometimes it’s good to just listen and let people say what they want, even if it sits wrong with you.

As he grows older, his mark remains the same size, a curious thing that happens only with the birthmarks and not with regular tattoos. It is, however, still a fairly large size, especially when compared to most people’s.

By the time he’s twenty-two, Noland’s mark takes up the entirety of his left pec. The black ink, at least, stops contrasting against his skin after Noland takes up physical exercise as a way to keep his body and mind sharp. His body tans in the long summers of his native home, gaining what his mother calls a _healthy glow._

With time he starts to think the mark even fits him, regardless of what it could possibly mean. He likes his little snake, it’s perfect round shape, the details in its skin. Noland has always loved nature. Maybe his mark is related to that?

Or maybe he’s just grown used to it after living with it his whole life. Who can say?

Still, he can’t help but wonder what the other person with his mark must be like. Are they like him, a person of science, a curious and rational mind? Noland can’t imagine sharing a bond with someone different from him in this regard, and indeed most couples he knows who share a mark are much alike, but at the same time he can’t quite see himself with a scientist, a person who favours books over hard-work and experimentation. 

When he finally goes out at sea, this and many other mysteries are on his mind. The world is so large and full of wonder. Few are the things that do not fascinate him: he finds it easy to get lost in so much new knowledge. He loses track of months and years in his voyages, only paying attention to his work and the safety of his crew.

He fills whole pages with notes and research, sends back letters to scientists he trusts, and only at night, when the sky is very dark and the moon is bright, does he stare at himself in the mirror and trace his mark, like he has done so many times before.

“Almost everyone covers their marks nowadays. What if you meet the person with your mark but you don’t know it’s them?” The question had been posed by one of his crew during dinner.

“Doesn’t everyone say you feel something though? Like your world is shaking or something,” is one of the replies offered, which is earned with a few scoffs and rolled eyes.

“What does that even mean? The earth shakes? Because I ain’t ever seen that happen to someone.”

“The earth doesn’t shake, you just _feel_ like it shakes–”

Noland tunes off the rest of the conversation, turning to his first mate to ask something about the samples they’d picked up at the last island. It’s not until later, when he’s by himself, that he goes back to the conversation.

How _do_ you know? His parents had said they instantly knew, but Noland struggles to picture it. He has met so many people in his travels. Any of them could have had his mark? Is that better? To have met them and never known? To have seen them, talked to them even, and then left them behind on one of the dozens of islands he has visited in the last couple of years?

With a shake of his head, Noland turns off his light and goes to bed.

No, it can’t be right. If there is someone out there with his mark and Noland is destined to meet them, he knows he hasn’t done it yet.

* * *

The island of Jaya is a sight like no other. With beautiful ivory beaches and a long stretch of forest and mountain, it’s just the kind of island Noland loves exploring.

“It looks promising,” Noland says, feeling the rush of excitement bloom through him.

“It looks dangerous,” his first mate says.

Noland laughs and gives him a hearty slap on the back. “Now where’s your sense of adventure!”

“Probably left it on the same island where I lost my thumb,” his man says, earning a few chuckles from the crew and a riveting shoulder hug from his captain that leaves him out of breath.

“This will be fun,” he promises. A few groans from his crew let him know not everyone is as enthusiastic as he is and he makes a mental note to stay on the island for a little longer than usual. Nothing like a few weeks of sunny days and fresh fruit to bring up a man’s spirit.

Noland is the first to step foot on the island, as often is the case. His crew remain behind on the boat, making sure it’s safe to dock, while Noland’s excitement can no longer be contained. It is there that Noland sees the boy.

He is young, probably a few years still to become of age, and his body looks so sickly and frail Noland initially thinks him dead.

There is a heartbeat, however, and the faintest breath. “Bring my medicine bag,” he shouts as loud as he can, hoping the wind will carry his voice. In his arms the boy stirs, a sign there’s still some strength in him. Good.

Noland conducts a quick medical exam though truthfully there is no need. Noland has seen this disease many times before –– too many –– and he regrets all the times he couldn’t get to people a little earlier, save a few more lives.

A few seconds later, his crew gets to him, tripping over their own feet in order to reach their captain.

“Here,” his first mate says, handing Noland his medicine bag.

A few more minutes and Noland’s got a vial with enough liquid to save the poor boy’s life. He holds the boy’s head to help him drink, pouring the liquid down too pale lips. Above them a storm breaks, water pouring down from above with such viciousness Noland fears the boy would have drowned had he not been found.

“Tell me, are there any others left?” Noland asks, fearing the worst.

“My village. There are many sick people,” the boy says.

Right, so maybe it’s not too late. Noland orders for some of his men to stay with the boy and the ship and then walks into the forest, following a faint path on the dirt. The air around him is still and tense, as if every breath holds death within. Noland is not anxious, per se, but he’ll admit he is concerned for what he’ll find. More than once he has to grind his group to a halt so they can listen to the sounds of the forest and find their way forward. It’s difficult, with the rain halting them in their every step, but a mere storm could never deter someone like him.

He isn’t sure what to think when they reach a massive stone arena and he hears a rumbling in the distance. The ground underneath his feet shakes, wavering for a second. Thunder? Or could this be the moment he meets his match? There is a crowd of people here, all of them staring at the podium in the middle of the arena where a girl lies. Could this be it? Noland doesn’t know how it’s supposed to go. He looks around and sees how everyone seems to be as alarmed as he is.

And then suddenly he sees it, the largest snake he has ever laid eyes on, larger than a whole town and making its way to the girl on the podium who is lying –– _no_ , who is trapped there.

Noland barely spares a thought to what he’s doing before he springs into action. His body moves entirely by instinct as he jumps, unsheaths his sword and takes down the giant beast in a single swoop, muscles straining, adrenaline pumping through his arteries. He isn’t sure what he expects from the crowd, but it sure isn’t for people to cry in revolt.

“No! He has killed God! He has stained the pedestal with God’s blood!” The voices are overwhelming, loud and angry, filling the arena with rage.

 _God?_ Noland thinks, staring at the massive snake he’s just slaughtered. It is quite big, he’ll grant them that, but it’s just a snake, hardly more impressive than many of the Sea Kings he has met on his voyages. Noland stares at the crying girl he has just saved and wonders how many others have died upon this stone pedestal.

“This is no god!” Noland yells. Arguably, it is not the best thing to yell at an angry crowd, but it’s hard to have a calm conversation when the skies are pissing down with rain, you have a trembling teenager in your hands and an angry mob looks two seconds away from stoning you both to death.

Noland barely has time to react when he sees a man rush up the steps to the podium. It doesn’t take a skilled warrior to see this man moves with pure intent to kill. Noland tosses the girl behind him and braces for the attack. He thinks he’s managed a half-decent block, but the man must have hit him somewhere with a poisoned knife, for a sharp sting of pain blossoms within him, coursing through his body like wildfire.

“What are you doing? How dare you interfere with our ritual and kill our god?” The man asks as he attempts to stab Noland again. And again. And a few more times after that.

“I am attempting to save this girl’s life from a meaningless death!” Noland yells.

The two of them are evenly matched in battle, able to meet each other step for step, and for a while it seems there will be no end to their feuding.

Alas, Noland is not expecting it when the warrior tosses a knife to the crying girl on the ground.

“Do it. Take your own life and save our village!” he demands. If Noland wasn’t already infuriated, he sure would be ready to raise hell now.

“Don’t be stupid!” Noland yells. Without thinking, he turns around to knock the damn knife out of the girl’s hands. He realizes his mistake the second he does it, but he can’t say he regrets it.

The spear goes through his back, coming out through the right side of the chest, and all he can think is _at least he didn’t get the mark_.

Above the crowd and the rain, Noland hears his crew cry out for him. Good men.

“All of you will be added to the sacrifice,” the warrior behind him proclaims, the insufferable fool.

“Sacrifice? Blood? Is that supposed to appease your god and save lives?” Noland scoffs, spitting out blood. “It’s a shame that such ideals still exist in this time and age! It is an insult to all the explorers and researchers who have dedicated their lives to progress.”

“What do you know of progress?” asks the warrior behind him, twisting the wet spear inside Noland’s body.

“More than you, it seems.” He raises his voice for his next couple of words, wanting to make sure not a single person in this whole damn island misses it. “Give me time and I will cure your village of all its sins. I will achieve what you wish to do without spilling any more blood.”

“I will kill you where you stand before I let you take another step. You will not get away,” the warrior yells after him.

Though he does not mean to, Noland laughs, the sound coming out wet and painful. “If I leave, then you’re just going to kill this girl and who knows how many others, all pointless sacrifices to a non-existent deity. No, I will stay and I will cure this village.”

The spear twists, yet again, and Noland spares but a thought to his own mortality. So this is it? Seems… unfitting, after all he’s gone through. 

A voice comes from the crowd, elderly and not stained with rage. “Lock this man’s crew in a cage. He has until tomorrow to fulfil his promise and save us. If he cannot do it, they will all be killed.”

Noland hears protests from the crowd, but whoever is speaking must be high up in this village’s ruling, for next thing he knows the spear is being removed from his body. He is left on the podium to bleed and gather his thoughts as everyone else is forced to leave.

It is not easy to find a single tree on an island covered in foliage, especially not when you’re bleeding from a massive whole in your chest, but Noland is nothing if not stubborn. It takes him well into daybreak, but when he finally finds the tree of Koaline his eyes break out in tears. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he couldn’t find the cure on this island. Beg and grovel for more time? Take his boat to see if he could find the tree elsewhere? So many lives would be wasted.

But here he finds hope, as small as it may be.

He collects the tree leaves in a medicine bag, making a cut to cut them straight at the stem so as to not leave lasting damage. One leaf should be enough for ten people, so he picks a few dozen, just to be safe. He is on his way back to the village when the ground rumbles beneath him once more, only this time it’s no snake, but an actual earthquake that has the very earth he stands on split beneath his feet and traps half his body.

He feels bones crushes and muscles compress, oxygen bursting in his lungs. His vision swims, coming and going with each passing breath as he fights off unconsciousness. He cannot die here. It is simply unthinkable. Yet the more he moves, the more the earth tightens around him.

Noland is no believer, but if he were he would imagine god was laughing at him right now, and laughter did he indeed hear when a shadow stepped out of the forest shade.

“How does it feel to get swallowed by the land you cursed when you killed our God?” the warrior asks him.

“Terrific,” he spits out, rolling his eyes. 

If the warrior is bothered by Noland’s response, Noland does not see it. He is exhausted and can only keep his head up for a few spells of strength before he crumbles again.

“I wonder, how are you still alive?”

“Stubbornness,” he replies. It is a lie, but he’s annoyed and he feels like indulging in said annoyance.

Truthfully, it is science that keeps him alive. Science and the knowledge that he’s got the cure in his crushed hand. He can save everyone. That, alone, would be enough to keep Noland alive in the face of an exploding volcano. A little rock pressed up against him? That’s nothing.

With a scream, Noland pushes the earth once more, using every ounce of strength in him. 

The ground budges, cracks, then resolutely moves back in place.

“The night is coming. Once the sun sets, all your men will be sacrificed to the angry God. You will never get out of there alive,” the warrior tells him.

Bit of a pessimist, isn’t he?

Noland ignores him and tries once more to free himself and then again and again, until tears come from his eyes and he starts to think fate as cruel as this should not be allowed.

“What are you people so afraid of, anyway?”

He can hear a muted, “What?” coming from the warrior, but he can’t be bothered to look up at him.

“Driven by your fear and so gladly taking innocent lives…”

“We do not sacrifice anyone _gladly_ ,” the warrior hisses.

“You do… You sacrifice human lives and feel good about it. Such meaningless losses.”

He hardly feels it when the warrior kicks him in the head, just another throe of pain to add to the list. “Do not speak of what you do not know, outlander. Our people have been living like this for hundreds of years. This is our history, our lifeblood. You have no right to come here and mock us.”

“I do not mock you, but your actions. To kill a young girl without a care, so cold-blooded. Yours are not the hearts of good men.”

Another kick to the head, another mouthful of blood Noland struggles to spit out.

“You know the girl you saved yesterday? She is my daughter!”

“And you would kill her, just like that?”

“No, not _just like that,_ but the words from the mouth of a priest are absolute. We are all doing what we can to save our people. I cannot disobey God’s will, not even for my own kin.”

It’s like talking to a goddamn wall. Noland sighs. He’s getting ready for another escape when the sound of drums echoes in the distance.

“Damn it,” he curses.

“Did you think you could stay like that forever? When God wills your death, there is no escaping your fate.”

Noland has a scathing reply on the tip of his tongue just ready to come out and shred the idiot warrior a new one, but alas it slips from his mind when the trees by his right crack and tumble as another giant fucking snakes comes out.

How many bloody snakes live on this island? This is literally the last thing Noland needed.

“It can’t be… God Jaya?” The warrior asks. Yeah, right, as if. “He is smaller though… Maybe God’s son? If it is him, it means he has come to punish you, god-slayer.”

Noland curses yet again. This can’t be it, not when he’s so bleeding close to saving them all.

“Am I dying here because of God's judgement or because of an accident? Is this village dying because of the curse or because of a disease?” Straining his neck, Noland makes sure he’s holding the warrior’s gaze. "Many years ago, my home suffered from the same disease as yours. Back then, the death rate was nearly absolute. Over one hundred thousand people died. But in recent years, the chance of dying from this same disease is almost non-existent thanks to researchers who found a cure. A cure made from extracts from the Koaline tree, which I have in my hand. Do you understand me? I can save your entire village! Everyone!”

“You are lying,” the warrior says. The snake, blasted thing, is inching ever close to Noland, but he pays it no mind. 

This is his last chance. Either he makes this thick-headed warrior see the truth or they will all die. The village, his men, he himself and eventually even the warrior — no one will survive.

“This cure comes from the collaboration of researchers from all around the world. Do you have any idea how many people have died before it? And how many others were saved? Yet this great creation is being stepped on by your superstition! This is why I say your rituals are insulting to mankind! They’re making you afraid of this damn snake right here and condemning you to a pointless fate!”

Noland blinks, takes a deep breath, then opens his eyes to the sound of a loud thud. He stares at the snake, with its eyes rolling to the back of its skull, and the warrior standing above it. Against the moonlight, with his long hair flowing in the wind and his back as straight as an arrow, he is quite the striking figure.

"What did I just kill?"

Noland stares at the warrior, looks down at the snake, looks back up at the warrior.

“It’s just a snake.”

"No... I slew god, the god you call just a snake. And the curse that has been killing everyone, you call it a curable disease. Can you really save my people?"

Noland nods so fervently he nearly makes himself sick. “I can. I promise.”

With another strike of his spear, the earth around Noland shatters and at long last he is free.

“Thank you,” he says.

“If you are true to your word, no thanks are needed.”

Noland nods, nearly falling flat on his face from the mere motion. “Let’s get back to the village.”

The walk is not long, but by the time they get there Noland is close to passing out and needs to take a few deep breaths to stop himself from puking when he sets off to work.

If the warrior notices his weakness, he makes no comment on it, instead watching in silence as Noland prepares the tree leaves. It’s not an arduous process, thankfully, just some grinding and boiling before the treatment is ready. He can feel multiple pairs of eyes on him as he helps a little girl drink. The promise is clear in the air. _If you fail, we’ll kill you._

Yet Noland does not fail and it doesn’t take long for the little girl’s eyes to open, colour returning to her cheeks soon after.

After that the whole process becomes much of a blur. Noland instructs some people in the village how to prepare the leaves and soon medicine is being distributed to every hut. A lot of people cry, others laugh, and Noland finds himself on the receiving end of many painful hugs.

“We will free your crew now,” the warrior tells him, his eyes shiny with unspilled tears. Noland nods, relieved, and slips away while a family celebrates the recovery of their grandmother.

He finds an empty spot behind the chief’s hut and settles down to sleep on the ground between two stacks of hay. It’s not the most comfortable, but after the last twenty-four hours, just about anything would do. Here, at least, it is quiet.

When he wakes up, the warrior who maimed and then saved his life is sitting by his side, a warm bowl of soup between them.

“I realized as you were curing my people that I did not know your name.”

Noland stares at the warrior for a couple of seconds. It’s different to see him so still. His eyes look to be lost in thought, his body relaxed for once.

“It’s Noland Mont Blanc.” Noland isn’t sure if it’s customary in this culture to shake hands, but he goes for it anyway. From the way the warrior stares at him like he’s a foreign creature, he kind of guesses the answer to that is _no_ , but after a while, the warrior offers him a hand back, and they shake as old friends do.

“I am Kalgara,” he says.

“It’s nice to meet you on better terms,” Noland says.

Kalgara nods like what Noland just said is something deep and wise and not the result of his pain-addled brain being incapable of proper thought. “Your men offered to help deliver the cure you made. They speak highly of you.”

“They are flatterers,” Noland replies.

“Are they? From what I’ve gathered, you are every bit as noble and honest as they make you out to be. It was I who misjudged you and for that I apologize.”

Noland looks at the man next to him properly for the first time. He has a long defined jaw and long hair of the most vibrant red Noland has ever seen. His muscles are defined and his skin is mottled with bruises and cuts, the form of a true fighter. Every line of him is strict and held tense, like he doesn’t know what it's like to stand down.

“You were doing what you thought was right for your village. That is something I think anyone could understand.”

Kalgara shakes his head. “I nearly killed my own daughter,” he whispers.

“But you didn’t, and that’s what matters,” Noland says, clapping him on the back.

“You’re too kind, but your words are appreciated. You should eat.” Kalgara picks up the bowl between them and hands it to Noland. “One of the elders made this for the people recovering. How is your arm?”

“Sore,” Noland laughs, taking a spoonful of the soup. It is delicious, the flavour rich and full of spices and the vegetables quick to melt in his mouth. “This is very tasty.”

Kalgara nods, like he expected nothing else, and watches Noland eat the rest in silence. Though awkward, it is not an altogether uncomfortable silence. It’s calm, in a way, as if there are no expectations between them.

Once he is finished eating, Kalgara takes the bowl and gets up, offering Noland a hand to help him stand. “I have a place for you to sleep and rest. The ground is no fitting bed for our saviour.”

Noland, too tired to argue, accepts the offer and lets himself be led to a small hut near the front of the village with rich furnishings. If he had a little more energy, he would be able to question the variety of weapons scattered around, mostly spears, but he’s pretty sure he saw a sword made out of _gold_ somewhere.

 _Well, that can’t be right_ , is the last thought he has before sleep takes him once more.

_Noland's mark._


	2. can we skip past near-death clichés

He awakes hours later, though when precisely he cannot tell. The sky outside is dark but the moon provides enough light to get up and stretch. His body is tender but already healing, muscles and bones fitting back into place. He suspects he’ll be as good as new in less than a week. 

After a quick inspection, he decides to leave his coat and boots in the hut, feeling a bit grimy after wearing them for so many hours. He’s not quite sure where he is, but when he finds out he’ll ask the hut owner if it’s okay to leave his stuff there.

With that sorted, he heads outside and is instantly greeted by the worried faces of his first mate and ship doctor.

“Admiral, you’re awake! We’ve been so worried. The big red-haired warrior told us you got injured and to not disturb your sleep. Are you alright?”

“I’m a little sore, but nothing a few days of rest can’t cure.” Noland looks at his men, who look no worse for the wear. True to their word, Kalgara and his people hadn’t hurt them. “How have you been?”

“Other than worried sick about you? Can’t complain. The high priest said you fulfilled your promise and freed us last night. We’ve been helping them for the past couple of hours. They’re actually not that bad.”

“They gave us food.”

“And offered us a place to stay.”

“And told us we are welcome here for as long as we’d like.”

“Well.” Noland put both of his hands on his hips like a thoughtful parent. “That’s nice.” 

“Can we then? Stay for as long as we’d like?” asks his first mate.

The question makes Noland’s eyebrows climb up his face. Just a few hours ago they were all on the brink of being murdered by these people but a good meal later everything was forgiven? 

Such is the stomach of men, it seems.

As if reading Noland’s mind, his ship doctor adds, “There are some really good cooks here. Plus, we could use the rest.”

They are right, of course, but Noland will have to speak to Kalgara first. “I’ll ask.”

After ensuring everyone in his crew is in good spirits and their ship is still safely harboured by the beach, Noland goes in search of the great warrior who saved him. He finds Kalgara near the edge of the forest, staring at the village from high up on a rock.

“Can I join you?” he asks.

Since the first time they met, Kalgara smiles at him. “Always.”

Once they are seated side by side, Noland understands why Kalgara picked this spot. From here they can see the entire village, as well as the ocean, stretching towards the horizon and who knows how further along. Even in the night, it is a beautiful sight. 

“How is your arm?”

Noland attempts to shrug, winces in pain and regrets his choices. “Still hurts a bit, but I already feel better. Might need to get some bandages later to fix the body in place.”

Kalgara nods. “There should be some in my hut. I’ll help you.”

Oh, well, Noland wasn’t expecting that. “You don’t have to,” he argues. “I know you’re a busy man and you must want time with your family after all this.”

“Noland, you are the saviour of my people. It would be my honour to help you, however I can.” Quieter, he adds. “And I have already talked to my daughter. She is well and harbours no ill will against me, though I would not judge her if she did.”

“And what about your wife?” he asks, the words slipping out entirely of their own accord.

“Her mother and I are not together. There is no one else I would rather be with right now.”

Noland stares down at his hands. He’s not used to such honesty, especially when coming from someone who recently shoved a spear in him, and he’s not using spear as a metaphor here.

“I appreciate that. Thank you. My men have asked if it would be okay for us to stay here for a few days more…”

“You are welcome to stay for as long as you would like. The island is big and there is much still you haven’t seen. There is one place in particular I would like to take you.”

“Oh?” Noland asks, the explorer side of him perking up.

Kalgara laughs and slaps him on the back. Thankfully, it’s on Noland’s good side, which is to say the one that had a spear through it, but not its arm crushed. “Soon, after you have rested some more. Come now, let’s go back to my hut.”

Noland follows Kalgara back to the hut where he had slept before. There, Kalgara finds some bandages Noland can use on wounds and a clean tunic. “Do you need help?” he asks.

Noland would be the last to describe himself as a shy man but here, in front of this kind warrior, he suddenly finds himself longing for privacy. “I can do it myself.”

Kalgara nods and leaves him be. By the time he returns, Noland is sitting on the bed, wondering where exactly he should sleep this time. Surely Kalgara would want his own bed? 

But no. He is told in no uncertain terms that the bed is his, no matter how many times he refuses. “You are my guest and you are wounded.”

“But this is your home. I can’t just take your bed and have you sleep on the floor in your own space.”

“And what would you suggest instead?” Kalgara asks. “It would insult my pride greatly to let you sleep on the floor.”

Noland looks up at Kalgara, then down at the bed. It’s a single, rather unfit for two grown men. If it weren’t for his arm, Noland would still dare suggest they share it, but alas that solution seems worse than the problem.

After a couple more minutes of a frustrating back and forth, he is forced to concede defeat, if only because his body is weakening with each new argument. As much as it pains him to be so uncouth, he needs the rest.

The next morning, Kalgara brings them warm toasted bread with marmalade for breakfast and Noland finds himself scarfing down the meal like a starved man. His men were right, the food here is delicious, every dish unbelievably tasty compared to their normal sea rations.

The next couple of days are spent sleeping and meeting the natives. Now that no one is inclined to sacrifice anyone else, bonds quickly develop between the crew and the people of this island.  _ Shandians  _ is how they call themselves, a beautiful name in Noland’s opinion.

Despite everyone being quite welcoming, Noland still finds himself by Kalgara’s side most of the time. The warrior seems to enjoy Noland’s company as much as Noland does his. In a way, it’s a little bizarre. The two of them couldn’t have grown up in environments more different, yet more often than not they can finish each other’s trains of thought, as if perfectly aligned.

On the fifth day of their stay, after they’ve finished bathing in one of the nearby springs, Kalgara asks him, “are you well enough to walk?” 

Noland nods. In truth, his arm still hurts quite a bit, but he can’t imagine spending another day in the village when there is so much of the island still to explore.

The look Kalgara gives him makes it clear his friend can see right through his lie, yet he lets it slip past, either out of benevolence or because he wants to show Noland something as much as Noland wants to see it. Half an hour later, the two of them find themselves walking through the forest side by side.

“Our village has protected this place for generations untold. We have never shown it to outsiders,” Kalgara tells him, pushing away a large leaf so Noland can walk ahead.

“But you’re showing it to me?”

“You are our saviour. Plus, you said yourself you’re an explorer. I believe this place should be of interest to you.”

They walk for over an hour. A couple of times Kalgara has to give him a hand to climb over a steep hill and, once, he even picks up Noland and carries him like he’s a sack of potatoes. It’s not the most dignified situation, but since there’s no one around to see it, Noland lets it happen without complaint.

Kalgara, for his part, doesn’t look bothered at all.

“Do I even weigh anything to you?” he asks, his face a few scant inches away from Kalgara’s ass. It’s not a horrible sight, he’ll admit that.

“Like carrying a pair of bananas.” Is what he gets in reply.

“Well,” Noland says, stopping when he realizes he really doesn’t know what to say to that.

In the end, it must be said, the indignities are fully worth it. For a sight such as this, Noland would let Kalgara carry him in a bridal hold for the whole journey. 

“Is this real?” he asks, for the first time in his life completely out of words.

“As real as you and me.”

It is the most extraordinary thing Noland has ever seen. A whole city made out of ancient stone and gold. The streets shine in the morning light, rays of the sun reflected in a thousand shining surfaces. There are so many buildings and little side streets, all of them decorated with gold ornaments, you could spend hours exploring this place and still find new wonders at every step. Coins litter the corners of the roads and above it all, center stage in the main plaza, there is a gigantic gold bell.

“We ring that bell to guide our ancestors as they travel in the afterlife. It is one of our most prized possessions.”

“I think I heard that bell. On our way to this island, we heard the most beautiful sound ring across the ocean. For a while I thought I must have dreamt it up for it sounded so much like a siren's call. It guided us here through a violent storm.”

“Then it is truly a blessed bell after all.”

Kalgara lets him take charge as they walk into the city. Noland finds it hard not to get distracted. Every house he looks into is filled with treasures the likes of which he has never seen before. Crowns and delicate clothes, books and documents Noland would give a leg to read, and prized jewels in every shape and size.

“How is this possible?”

“Jaya is a rich island. Be it animals, flora or precious minerals, we lack nothing here, and you and your people are welcome to it all.”

Noland pauses to stare at Kalgara. Has the warrior lost his head? “You mean we can take some of this?”

“As much as you can fit in your ship. All of my people have agreed to this. This gold would be but a small thanks for all you’ve done for us.”

“You can’t be serious, my friend. This is part of your heritage. Your proud history!”

“They’re just objects, most of which we have no use for. Our history is in our culture, our traditions, new and old alike. Besides the bell, there is only one thing we could never part with.”

And that is how Noland finds himself face to face with a giant stone poneglyph, the kind he’s only ever read about in secret passages of forbidden books. He can’t stop himself from running a hand against the stone surface. It's just rock, yet it's one of the most precious objects in the whole world.

“Can you read it?” he asks.

Kalgara shakes his head. “No, that knowledge wasn’t passed through the generations. I wondered for some time if you could.”

“The language is forbidden across the world. There are only a few left who can decipher these glyphs. But you guard it nonetheless?”

“It is my duty as a Warrior of Shandia.”

Noland nods and drops his hand. They spend most of their day exploring the rest of the city. Noland finds a beautiful coat with gold trimming that Kalgara insists he takes, noticing how well it suits his friend. For lunch they hunt together, competing to see who can find the bigger boar. 

“It’s not fair, I only have the use of one arm,” Noland complains after Kalgara appears at the forest edge with a boar three times his size.

“Then we’ll compete again once you’re well. Maybe sea monsters next time?” If Noland’s eyes could sparkle, they would right then and there.

By nightfall, the two of them are still together, roasting their hunts over a low fire and trading stories of their lives before they met.

“What is it like, the place you come from?”

Noland stops eating to think. What is it like, his home? Before coming to Jaya he feels like the answer would have been simple.  _ It’s a growing kingdom, with brilliant researchers and explorers, and the prettiest mountains you’ll ever see.  _ Yet that answer feels so inadequate here and now, in a city made out of gold, next to someone more of a king than a lot of the nobility Noland knows.

“It’s different from Jaya. The cities are larger and there are always dozens of ships in our harbours, coming and going every day. We trade a lot with neighboring nations and our king is quite interested in exploring.”

“Is he a researcher such as yourself?”

Noland thinks back to the first and only time he met the king, a scrawny little man who barely reached Noland’s chest.

He remembered there were many discussions about treasure and making Lvneel richer than ever. Was there any talk of Noland’s research in botanics and medicine? If there was, he can’t recall. At the time, he had been excited just to get his own ship and permission to go where the seas took them. It was only later that he realized there was a lot of weight put on his shoulders in return for his trips.

“I believe he is curious about the secrets of the ocean,” is Noland’s diplomatic reply. He’s not sure why he’s trying to hide this from Kalgara, who is so honest with him in return.

“Secrets? Or treasure? You may pretend, my friend, but the words you omit say as much as the ones you utter,” Kalgara says, laughing at the shocked expression on Noland’s face.

“You must have the gift of thorough sight, for nothing seems to escape you!” Noland says, making Kalgara shake his head.

“I have no such gift. You wear your emotions on your face. Only a fool would miss them.”

Noland, who has spent most of his life at sea feeling like he has never quite fit anywhere, is too astonished at the confession to reply.

After their fire has died down, the two of them settle inside one of the large houses. The journey back to the village would be perilous in the dark and neither of them is particularly inclined to take the risk.

“Let me see if I can find some fabric. I will make you a comfortable bed,” Kalgara says, already on the move the second Noland sits down.

Though he protests, Kalgara is a hard man to detain when he’s on a mission. Noland settles back against a wall and watches his friend move about, eventually returning with two fluffy capes that he drapes on the floor.

For the first time since they met, the two of them lie side by side on the ground, their hands a mere few inches from each other, the night air still with the silence of isolation.

“Do you ever think about leaving Jaya?” 

“I confess I have, a few times. Jaya is my home and soul, but it’s difficult to look to the ocean and not question what else is there. We know our ancestors were explorers, as some of these riches are not native to our land, but my village hasn’t known travel for many generations.” 

Noland’s not sure why he asks the next question. He knows it's silly, ridiculous even. He and Kalgara barely know each other, but he can’t help feeling this connection between them, as if there is something real and tangible connecting them.

“Would you leave with me, if I asked?”

Kalgara turns to look him in the eye. “Would you ask?”

“No, I don’t believe I could ever take you from this island.”

“Not even as a companion? To explore a few new islands together?”

Noland wonders if Kalgara is using the word  _ companion _ in the way Noland is thinking. It seems unlikely, yet he can’t stop himself from turning the word over and over in his head. He would be lying to himself and the universe if he said he hadn’t thought about it. After all, Kalgara was strong and capable and definitely not difficult on the eyes. The fact that he walked around shirtless all the time certainly didn’t help Noland’s predicament.

Could he be interested? Noland didn’t know enough about the Shandians to know their view on relationships between people of the same gender. Would Kalgara be offended, if he asked? He didn’t seem the type, though these things were often hard to judge.

Noland pushes himself up on an elbow, intent on figuring this out before he lets it fester in his mind, speech already on the tip of his tongue and…. Kalgara has fallen asleep. Right. It is quite late in the evening, to be fair.

Well, tomorrow is a brand new day. He can ask then.

Except, the next day, Kalgara wakes up full of energy and asks Noland if he would like to see the waterfalls. By the time they’re finished, the sun has already set and it’s Noland’s turn to pass out on the spot.

The next few days pass in much the same way. Kalgara takes him to explore more and more of the island. Occasionally, some of the other islanders and Noland’s men join them. They even go up to see the Golden City once, but for the most part, it’s just the two of them.

Near the end of their stay in Jaya, Noland mentions that there’s going to be a meteor shower in the area soon, and Kalgara invites him to watch the stars from high up on one of the Golden City’s watch towers. There they have blankets and fresh fruit, enough comfort and food to last the night.

“You’re always surprisingly prepared for a man who only carries a spear with him,” Noland comments, lying down on the ground near one of the walls. Part of the wall here has crumbled with time and you can see the sky in full.

“Why would I carry a bag when I have two strong arms at my disposal?” 

Noland laughs and takes a bite out of a ripe peach. It’s still a few hours until the comets start to fly by, but the two of them are content to rest in silence. 

It is easy to be with Kalgara in a way Noland must confess he has never experienced with anyone else. There are no expectations between them. Though Noland often wonders what Kalgara would do if he were to ask for something more, he is also content to let the matter lie, happy just to have this man’s friendship. 

After all, he is not a greedy man by nature. He can lie still and let his thoughts be just that: thoughts, innocent, unburned by the act of saying them out loud.

He doesn’t realize he’s been lost in said thoughts for a questionable amount of time until Kalgara turns to him and smiles. “Would you like to braid my hair?” he asks, probably assuming that’s the reason why Noland has been staring at him for so long.

Noland has never braided anyone’s hair before, but in the moment he can’t bring himself to say no. “You’ll have to walk me through it,” he says.

“It will be an easy challenge for a man such as yourself.” Kalgara seems to think all challenges are easy for Noland, who is often too flattered to tell him all his life has been a battle until now.

He kneels behind Kalgara’s back and starts to part the hair with clumsy fingers.

“You’ll need to divide the hair into three sections and cross the ones on the side over the middle, one at a time. You can use my hair ties to keep it separated,” Kalgara tells him, passing him some string ties without looking back.

With far more care and consideration than he’s ever given his own hair, Noland divides the hair into three sizable portions. He manages to wrap one of them with a hair tie before he sees the mark on Kalgara’s back and is truly and permanently distracted.

Though he has thought about Kalgara many times and in many different ways, it had somehow never occurred to him that Kalgara’s mark would be beneath his long hair. Without even realizing it, Noland reaches out with one of his hands and touches the tattooed skin. In his home, it is considered a taboo for anyone but your match to touch your mark, but Kalgara allows him the intimacy, even bending his neck further down to give him better access.

“What does the mark mean to the people of Shandia?” Noland asks, trying not to let his anguish show through his voice.

“I suspect that for a man of science such as yourself, our explanation might seem silly, but the marks are special to us. They symbolize a blessing from the gods, a reward for good deeds in every past, present and future life. To meet the match to your mark is to be blessed with long-lasting love and companionship. We often call them soulmarks.”

Noland can hear himself swallow in the silence of the night. His fingers shake, minutely, and he wonders if Kalgara can feel it.

“In my home village we believe much the same, though personally I’ve never been quite sure what to think of them.” He pressed the base of his thumb against the snake’s head on Kalgara’s skin. He has touched this very spot on himself so many times, it seems impossible to touch it on someone else. “Have you met anyone with your mark?”

“No. Not everyone in our village has a matching soulmark, though most do. For a long time, we accepted this meant we were destined to be without a life partner. Warriors. We didn’t consider there would be people from outside our village we could share a bond with.”

Noland doesn’t know how to respond. So Kalgara had thought he would never find his matching mark and now here was Noland, an awkward fool from a faraway sea who is so out of his depth he fears he might be drowning. Time passes. Noland runs his thumb against the length of the snake’s body.

“Can I see yours, my friend?” Though shyness must be a foreign concept to Kalgara, the request doesn’t come in his usual bolstering tone either. Instead, it is quiet, like Kalgara doesn’t expect an answer.

Noland hesitates, staring down at where his mark is hidden beneath his jacket. Most of his friends and crew have seen it as he often takes off his clothes when he goes swimming, but he can’t remember the last time he showed it to someone on purpose.

Still, regardless of what might happen, he feels like he owes Kalgara this piece of honesty, this last bit of himself.

With unsteady hands, he starts opening his belt to take off his jacket, then moves to the buttons of his shirt. He is surprised when a pair of much steadier hands join his, taking over for him.

Kalgara looks concentrated, focused on the task at hand. Kneeling together like this, they’re nearly on top of each other’s laps. Noland feels like there’s not enough air left in the world to appease his aching lungs.

It is a most intimate thing, to be undressed by another man while bathed in moonlight, not another human soul around for hundreds of meters. When all the buttons have been opened, Kalgara pushes the shirt away, slipping it down Noland’s shoulder until he’s bare-chested. He stares at the mark on Noland’s chest in contemplative silence before he reaches out and strokes it.

“Are you not surprised?” Noland asks. For the first time since they became friends, he can’t for the life of him gauge what Kalgara is thinking. Is he horrified? Happy? Sad?

After what feels like eternity and half, Kalgara looks up and meets his eyes.

“My very first thought upon seeing you was that you were a message from the gods. A sign we were doing the right thing. You were like fire in my blood. Though I was wrong about your intentions, I have never doubted how you made me feel.”

“You’re the most noble person I know,” Noland replies, which is not what he wants to say at all, but the true confession lies trapped within his lungs, unsure of itself.

“I assure you, my thoughts for you are anything but noble.” One of Kalgara’s hands finds Noland’s jaw. It’s large enough that he could grab and squeeze all the air out if he would like, but all he does is stroke the skin there like it's something precious. “You don’t have to return my feelings for you. I want nothing that you wouldn’t give.”

Oh and that’s the crux of the question here, isn’t it? Because the truth is Noland wants to give Kalgara everything. He wants to give himself body and soul, to have Kalgara hold him and have that be everything for all his life. His days in Jaya have been the only ones in his life where he has felt at peace.

Before he had travelled from island to island, always searching, never able to rest, but here the days are long and the nights are warm. Here he can breathe.

And to think on top of everything he has found the match for his mark here, after so many years of wondering and searching, never quite knowing what to expect.

“There is no feeling of your own that I do not return. In such a short time you have changed the entire course of my life. I would give you the skies if I could,” Noland says, the emotion getting the best of him and making him trip over his words. For the first time in his life, he is both completely sure and unbelievably nervous about where he stands.

He has never done this before. He doesn’t know if this is how it goes.

He thinks back to the first night he met Kalgara. There was actual lightning in the sky that night and his entire body shook for hours with nerves and adrenaline. Still, he distinctly remembers the first time he locked eyes with Kalgara, how fire seemed to blossom across his chest.

So they are fated after all.

He’s not sure who kisses who first, if it’s from the proximity or the unavoidable weight of each other’s presences, but it’s not long before they meet each other in the middle. 

Kalgara lays him on the blankets across the ground, hair half undone and soon to be fully wrecked by Noland’s hands. They kiss for hours, until they are both well acquainted with each other’s bodies. Kalgara seems to find Noland’s mark a particularly enticing spot, leaving marks all around it that will last for days.

By the time their bodies turn soft and their hands stop wandering, the sun is rising in the horizon, and the air is hazy and glowy in the morning light.

“I wish to stay here,” Noland whispers.

Kalgara, ever practical, replies, “Then stay.”

“It’s not so easy. I made a promise to the king of my land. I agreed to go back and tell him about the places I’ve seen. I can’t leave my men to the fate of the sea.” It would weigh on him until the end of his days if he were to desert his people.

“It would not be honourable,” Kalgara concludes.

Noland nods, kisses him. “It would not,” he agrees.

“But you can come back after you return to your island. Could you stay then?”

Noland thinks about it. He is part of Lvnnel’s army, so he can’t just walk away from his post, but he might be able to convince the king that another expedition is worth it, but then that would mean having to leave again. Noland tries to imagine it – a life at sea, far from Jaya, far from his fate.

It seems unlivable now, like a nightmare too cruel to even contemplate, which settles his inner debate without further questioning. Noland will return to Lvnnel and do whatever it takes to convince the King to free him from service and sail back to Jaya. 

“I’ll come back and then… then I’ll stay,” he says and then Kalgara kisses him, reaching a hand into Noland’s inner thighs as if drawn to Noland’s body.

They return to the village a few hours later hand in hand, saying their goodbyes on the outskirts of town. Noland needs to get back to his ship and make the final preparations before they leave and Kalgara needs to attend to his regular duties.

They agree to meet again in the evening, after the sun has set and the skies have gone quiet.

If Noland has a slight trot to his step as he makes his way back to his beautiful ship, it’s really no one’s business but his own.

“Someone’s feeling chipper today,” his first mate comments, giving Noland a not so subtle raise of brows.

Well, no one’s business but Noland’s and his nosy crew.

“Can’t a man just feel good about life? Happy for the future? Content with what awaits him?”

“A man can, yes, but I thought you’d be a bit more sad to leave this island. You seem quite fond of it.”

From the prow of his ship, Noland looks back at Jaya, its unending beaches and tall trees. From here you can’t see the Golden City, but if he squints his eyes he swears he can see a slight shine in the sky, a reflected light, maybe.

“Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I’ll never come back,” Noland says.

“Is that so? Well, good for you, Admiral. You deserve good things in your life.”

Noland laughs, embarrassed but also too fond, too  _ happy _ to be bothered. He deserves good things in his life, it’s true. Up until now, he hadn’t even realized he had been lacking, but now that the universe has promised him this, he knows he will never let it go.

“Have you taken care of the trees infected with the disease?”

“Yes, our men are chopping down the last few as we speak.”

“Good, let me know when it’s done.”

Noland goes to his cabin, a room he hasn’t stepped foot in since the day he landed on the island. There are a few new spiderwebs, which Noland ignores unless they’re on something he needs to move.

It takes him a couple of hours to write a full report of all they’ve seen and done on the island, but once he’s done Noland is pleased with the results. Sending this ahead of time to the King will shorten his time back home and allow him to set sail sooner. 

At one point while he’s writing, he finds himself whistling and decides to keep the tune going until he receives a sharp knock on his door.

“Admiral, I think you should come outside. Something has happened.”

Noland is out of his seat before his first mate has even finished speaking. Tossing on his coat as he walks outside.

“What is it?”

“Not sure yet. The crew reports of some hostility from the villagers.”

Hostility? For what reason? Everything was fine just this morning. “What did we do?” Noland asks.

It is one of his crew members who speaks up. “Nothing, Admiral. We were just cutting down the last trees when some of the villagers showed up and started yelling at us. When we went back to the village no one would speak to us. It’s as if they were giving us the silent treatment.”

That does sound… odd. “Surely it is a misunderstanding. I will go to the village myself and ask. It wouldn’t do well for our last night in Jaya to be one of confusion. In the meantime, tell everyone to get back to the ship and stay here until I return.”

The walk to the village is brief and one Noland could do with his eyes closed, so used he is to this well-worn path. When he reaches the edge of town, he is surprised to find a large group of people gathered near the priest’s hut when normally most of them would be at work at this hour.

“Hey, everyone! Is there an event today we missed?” The question is meant to be diplomatic, not too straight-forward and with a hint of light-heartedness, but from the way people react you would think Noland has just spit on their faces.

“There is no event and, even if there was, you would not be invited, outsider.”

Noland takes a step back, surprised by the amount of anger he’s being met with. The people of Shandia haven’t spoken to him like this since that very first day that now seems to be as far away as another lifetime.

“What happened? Where’s Kalgara?”

It is the young boy who Noland cured on the beach who steps forward. “Kalgara doesn’t want to see you again. You should all leave this island as soon as possible.”

“That can’t be. Just yesterday–” Just yesterday they were together making promises for the rest of their lives. What was this? Did Kalgara regret the things he said? Did he not want Noland after all?

It doesn’t seem possible that his friend, honest and courageous as he was, would ever do such a thing to him without at least speaking to him first. Yet Kalgara is not here, where he promised he would be working all day, and he knows he will not find any answers in the scorn of these people.

“Me and my crew will be leaving then. We’ll sail out at daybreak.” Noland turns around, pauses, and then adds, as if to clear his conscience for crimes unknown. “I’m sorry for whatever it is we have done. I hope time can give us all clarity and forgiveness.”

Noland goes back to his ship and tells the crew the sad news, though at this point they don’t feel like news at all.

He feels foolish slipping out of his own ship when night comes and dinner is being served, yet he cannot stop himself from doing so. Kalgara had promised – he had  _ promised _ they would meet again. Noland can’t beat the thought of leaving without saying goodbye. Even if Kalgara tells him he’s no longer interested, that yesterday was a mistake, Noland needs them to at least be friends again.

How could he lose this so suddenly?

He gets to the Golden City as the moon climbs up to as high as it will go in the sky. “I know you are here, Kalgara. Please answer me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

The sound of two birds taking flight greets his ears, but no human answer comes from within the ancient walls. Above him, the night is still and heavy, as if the sky itself is charged with anticipation. With a sigh, Noland starts making his way to the watch tower he and Kalgara spent yesterday’s evening.

“I will stay here all night if I have to. I won’t leave until you explain to me what’s going on,” he says.

A second later, a spear flies through the sky with enough force to take down a Sea King. It is only a lifetime’s worth of reflexes that has Noland move out the way in time, the ground cracking when the spear hits it.

That was aimed straight at him. Straight at his chest. At his  _ mark _ .

“Get out of my sight unless you want this night to be your last night.” The voice comes from high up above, but the man himself is nowhere to be seen.

“Kalgara…”

“Leave, Noland, and never step foot on this island again.”

He does not cry as he walks away. He does  _ not _ , but it’s a damn close thing. He holds until he gets to his cabin and there he does cry, openly and freely, feeling wronged by the whole world and unable to blame anyone for it but himself.

He must have done something. Must have committed some grave faux pas against the Shandians and now this was his punishment.

Sleep doesn’t come to him that night. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Kalgara, laughing at one of Noland’s jokes or reaching forward to kiss him. More than once he finds himself replaying the events of the night before. How well they had fit together, how natural it seemed for them to kiss and stroke each other’s skin.

He’s ashamed of himself when he reaches down his pants and strokes himself until he comes, but at least he can have this in secret, as pitiful as it might be.

When he awakes the next morning, the crew is in low spirits but ready to sail.

“Admiral, I think you should know something. Miss Moosu came to speak to me early in the morning.”

Kalgara’s daughter? Whatever for?

The doctor tells him the whole story. How the dead trees they chopped held the souls of the Shandians’ ancestors. How by cutting and burning down all that wood, they had slaughtered countless generations of Shandians and left their souls lost and adrift in the wind. How they had presumed, arrogantly, and didn’t once bother to check if they could do such a thing.

“I see…” Noland says. So this is the truth. This is why Kalgara rejected him. “We betrayed their trust. No wonder they were outraged.”

But, Admiral, under the circumstances...” says one of the crew.

“Ignorance doesn't excuse our actions. Their golden bell doesn't only declare their proud existence, it was also there to guide the souls of their ancestors to the trees that no longer exist because of us.”

“Admiral…”

“We do not deserve forgiveness.” Noland wipes away a few stray tears before anyone can see them. “Attention, everyone! Give back all the gold we took and raise our anchor. It is time we depart.”

“What? Give back all the gold? Admiral, you can’t be serious,” somebody tries to argue, but the look Noland gives them quickly shuts them down.

If this is goodbye, then let it be as honourable as Noland can make it.

It is not enough. He knows nothing he does will ever be enough. But maybe if Moosu speaks to Kalgara and they leave the gold, it will be enough for the people of Shandian to understand they never meant them any harm.

It is bitter, to find love and to let it go, but Noland can at least say he found it. He knows of so many others who never meet their match. Soulmark, Kalgara had called it, not just mark as Noland’s people did. It was a beautiful word.

As the anchor is raised, their ship starts to move, carried by the wind. They have just departed the island when the most beautiful sound in the world rings across the sky.

“It’s the bell! It’s ringing.”

“Do they forgive us?”

“What’s happening?”

“Admiral, look!”

There are too many people shouting for Noland to focus on a single voice, but the last one comes from his first mate at the back of their ship and it’s enough to make Noland rush to his side.

He feels his heart take flight when he sees Kalgara on the beach.

“When you come back, do not get lost; do not let the storms stop you! The bell will ring for you, Noland, until you come back! Then we’ll meet and be together again.”

So he did forgive them after all. Through sweat and snot and tears, Noland somehow manages to find his voice. “We’ll meet again. I promise!”

The temptation to jump over the railing and swim back to Kalgara is almost overwhelming. Could he do it? Could he run to be with the man who has changed his life forever?

“Admiral, are you sure this is the right decision?” asks his first mate.

_ I have no clue _ , he thinks. 

Suddenly the decision to leave seems cruel, entirely unfair and unfit. The place he is returning to is not his home. He’s wasting precious time and risking an unnecessary journey. He’s risking more misunderstandings as bitter as this.

“You don’t have to come with us. We can lie, say you died at sea,” someone else says.

Dead? Him? Noland shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I can’t ask you to lie for me. You’re my crew.”

“You’re not asking. We’re offering,” his first mate says.

It is an appealing offer, that he cannot deny, but as he stands on the quarterdeck of his ship, watching Kalgara on the beach, he feels a flash of bravery that must come from the other man. It says ‘you will come back’ in no uncertain terms. Through storm or hell water, no matter how many monsters he faces on the way, he believes it wholly, knows it to be true.

“We’ll go back to Lvneel and I will return here one day. This is a promise I will not break.”

His words are final and his crew, good people as they are, understand.

Noland stays on the back of his ship watching Kalgara on the beach until he can see nothing but the sea.


	3. Chapter 3

After setting sail, it takes them over a month to reach Lvnnel.

The seas are not friendly to travellers. They face storms so steep with rain they fear drowning and fogs so thick you can’t see the person right in front of you. More than once, Noland has to jump in the water to rescue a fallen crewmember, his mark on proud display. He enjoys seeing it, knowing its meaning, though he’d rather do without all the mishaps.

It is through sheer dumb luck, unparalleled stubbornness and defiant resilience that they make it to land. 

“Thank you all for your work this past year. Enjoy your earnings and may luck always favour you,” Noland says, a little goodbye speech before they dock.

After long journeys, it’s not uncommon for crews like theirs to separate and each go in their own separate way. Though Noland must confess he is sad to see his men go, he cannot promise any of them future work, his own future too uncertain.

“Will you be speaking to the King soon?” asks his first mate.

“I have an audience scheduled for tomorrow.”

His first mate raises both of his brows in surprise, giving Noland a skeptical look. “So soon?”

“As you know, I sent a report of the things we saw ahead of time. It seems it was… very well received by his Highness.”

This is just Noland speculating, of course. The letter he’d received back from the King had only given him a time and place to be, but considering how close it was to his arrival, Noland had reasons to suspect the King wanted to ensure he was the very first to hear about the journey.

This could be for many reasons. Noland had collected no less than seven different, previously unknown plant specimens on his travels, as well as a variety of bugs and even a parakeet. The value of such findings to scientific research was still unknown, but could be life-changing if any of the plants or bugs are found to have medicinal properties.

Of course, most would consider this an optimistic view of things.

“The gold, huh? I imagine he’ll want to see it for himself.” his first mate asks. 

“Possibly.” Noland sighs.

In regards to the advancement of scientific research, the value of a partnership between Lvnnel and Jaya is insurmountable. The island is rich in resources and history and there is no doubt they have as much to learn from the people of Shandia as they have from them.

In practice, however, these things were never as simple as one hopes for. Noland is not a man of politics and he is not looking forward to the long meetings and discussions that come with such alliances. Nor, he suspects, will Kalgara, though undoubtedly the rest of the tribe will appreciate the effort.

“Good luck, Admiral. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Likewise, my friend.”

Noland doesn’t have a house on the island, being gone too long for the upkeep to be worth it. He used to stay in his parent’s house while they still lived, but after their passing he sold the house. It was too far from the harbour for it to be of use to him and every time he went back he felt weighted down by a childhood‘s worth of memories.

He could go to the military outpost if he felt like it. His rank as Admiral grants him a room, no questions asked, but at the end of the day there’s nowhere Noland would rather be than on the ship that’s served him so well for so long.

The extra time onboard also gives him time to pack and organize all his documents, most importantly maps of their journeys. His navigator left them in his care just this morning and he is meant to hand them to the King and his advisors tomorrow, which gives Noland just enough time to make a copy of all the documents for himself.

He arrives at the palace bright and early, having decided to forego sleep altogether when he saw the sun rising. Noland can’t really say what he’s expecting after he’s led inside and pointed towards one of the audience rooms, the guards trusting him to find his way, but it’s definitely not to hear the King shouting before he has even knocked.

“A city of gold! Imagine that!” The voice is unmistakably coming from the King. Noland would recognize that scratchy quality anywhere.

“He must be lying, your majesty,” someone says.

“Long sea voyages make men delusional,” another voice adds.

“And the island… Populated by giant snakes and savages,” the King says.

“If there is gold there as promised, they must all be dealt with.”

“Eradicated,” the second voice agrees.

The King makes a loud humming noise and the sound of feet pattering around a room can be heard. “Yes, of course... If this Golden City exists as Mont Blanc promises, we must take the whole island or risk it falling into the wrong hands.”

The wrong hands? What kind of filthy joke is this? Noland has half a mind to barge into the room and knock some sense into these people. It takes a lot of self-control for him to stay rooted outside the door, his ears perked up for more whispers of conversation.

“We should take the army. Ten boats in total,” one of the counsellors suggests.

“It will be enough to deal with the savages and take back most of the gold,” the other agrees.

“We’ll be the richest country in this part of the North Blue. Maybe even the world.”

The discussion continues on, but Noland doesn’t need to listen any further.

This is his worst nightmare come to life. To think that there were never any intentions of establishing a trade route, no peace treaties or even the faraway dream of having sister nations. There is only death and the quest for gold, eternal damnation that it is.

If Noland steps into that room right now, he will have no choice but be the one to guide them. Oh, he could argue, of course, but when are researchers and explorers ever listened to in the matters of state? His voice will only count if it backs the masses. Noland might not be the most politically gifted, but he knows what role he is meant to play here.

Without saying a word, he turns around and runs.

He does not stop by the guard post, does not return any greetings or waves he receives. He just runs even when he has no air left in his lungs and his legs ache with use. He runs through crowds and deserted stress, a single thought going through his head.

_He will kill them. He will kill them. He will kill them._

He had always known this could be an option, yet he had faith, foolish as it was. He remembers back on Jaya, a late night conversation where Kalgara turned to him and said, “You’re not a naive man, Noland, but you’re too trusting.”

He hadn't meant it as an insult, but as a light-hearted joke between friends, yet the words now sting as sharp as a knife.

There will be no journey to Jaya for the Kingdom of Lvnnel. Let them think Noland is crazy. Let them think him a liar and a deserter both. Let them forsake him. He does not care. He will not risk the life of an entire village for the sake of metal.

Though Noland hadn’t prepared for something like this to come to light, he knows what he needs to do, a lifetime of survival instincts guiding him.

He stops running once he gets to his ship, if only because he needs to slow down and spread oil across the wooden planks in order to set it alight. It is a dramatic gesture, he knows, but it will be better if he doesn’t leave anything behind. He throws the maps and all the original documents he has into the fire, leaving with his own copies and enough money to rent a small boat.

He departs as soon as he has enough provisions to last the journey, not wanting to risk another minute on land. As he sails away, his own regret is not leaving a message to any of his crew, but he can’t risk involving anyone else in his plans. To depart after disobeying the King is treason and there is no mercy for such a crime.

As he leaves Lvnnel for the very last time, Noland does not turn to his home country and wave as old friends do. He cannot stand to look back now. His country has betrayed him and he has betrayed it.

Without his crew by his side and only his own average navigation skills, the journey back to Jaya poses many new challenges. Though an adept sailor, commandeering a ship all on his own requires all of his focus and energy, even at night, Noland often finds himself springing awake from sleep as a violent storm surges out of thin air or a Sea King mistakes him for prey.

On the third week of his voyage, Noland’s boat is capsized by a viscous tsunami, and by the time the seas calm and he manages to turn the wreck around, his mast has been capsized and all of his food and clean water have been lost to the mercy of the ocean.

Is there where it ends? He thinks. Alone, adrift at sea, with no food or shelter and only the vaguest idea of where he could be.

He suddenly regrets leaving Jaya with a rage so fierce he fears he might lose his mind. He should have stayed and talked to Kalgara. Should have insisted they had words the night before they left.

Curse his pride and his foolishness, taking everything from him when he had it so close.

He doesn’t know how long he stays at sea. Without fresh water, it only takes a few days before his mind starts to unravel. He starts to see visions of things he knows are not there, like the Golden Bell and his crew back at his side.

Most of all, he sees Kalgara, laughing at one of Noland’s jokes, his head thrown back and his eyes crinkled in joy. It is a most beautiful sight, even in such deplorable conditions, and if Noland is to die, at least he has Kalgara’s memory at his side.

Time passes, neverending. Days blend into nights, blend into nothingness. The sun bakes his skin as his stomach shrinks. Noland is close to dead when after another long, restless night, he wakes up to the most beautiful sound in the world.

“The bell,” he whispers to no one but himself, needing to hear the words out loud to truly believe them.

The sound is faint and could almost be mistaken for a bird’s song were it not for the fact that Noland has been adrift at sea for days on end. Furthermore, once he strains his ears to it, he is sure that no animal on earth could ever make a sound so melodic. Using a broken piece of the mast as an oar, Noland rows to hope.

He’s not sure how long the bell rings for, but it must be a few hours, for he is too weak to row at a proper pace and grows faint more than once, needing to stop for fear of losing consciousness.

By the time he sees Jaya in the distance, the sun is high up on the sky and the heat burns his skin, which by now can be peeled off in disgusting chunks.

Still, Noland rows, the action becoming mechanical, almost instinctual, and by the time he gets to shore the bell has just finished ringing, almost as if the one ringing it knows a visitor has arrived.

Noland stumbles, more than disembarks, falling face first on the sand before he manages to heave himself up. He manages to take a few unsteady steps before he sees the shadow of a man walk through the treeline in his direction. Noland hopes he still looks vaguely like himself and not an intruder because of all things he doesn’t need right now, a spear through his chest is high up on the list.

“I come in peace,” he says, or whispers, if you want to be technical about it. His voice is weak and raspy from disuse. 

“You came back.” He hears, making his head shoot up so quickly he grows dizzy from the movement. It’s hard for his eyes to focus, even hard for him to believe what he’s seeing, yet no mirage or hallucination could be as real as him.

Noland is so tired words fail him. He feels the sand slip beneath his feet and his body waver as he uses all the strength he has in him to remain upright. “Kalgara.”

“You came back,” Kalgara repeats, this time much closer. It takes Noland a few seconds to realize Kalgara is actually the one holding him up, the two of them hugging from hips to shoulders.

With that he relaxes, letting Kalgara take his weight. “I said I would. I promised.”

“It was a dangerous journey and after everything that happened... I hoped, but I could never be sure.”

Noland closes his eyes and rests his face against Kalgara’s neck, breathing him in. He smells like he always does, of pinewood and sweat. If Noland wasn’t so dehydrated, this revelation alone would have broken him. As it is, he is far too exhausted to do anything but shed a few dry tears.

“I dreamt of you every day at sea,” he confesses. “You’re the only reason why I made it here.”

“And the rest of your crew? Are they with you?”

Noland attempts to shake his head but finds the movement difficult when every inch of him seems to be pressed into Kalgara’s sturdy frame. “I came alone. Things changed. I couldn’t risk this island being found by the wrong people.”

 _I couldn’t risk losing you_ , he doesn’t add, knowing Kalgara would find it ridiculous. He is a warrior, after all. He doesn’t need protecting. But that doesn’t mean Noland can’t worry. He parts his lips and presses a small kiss where Kalgara’s shoulder meets his neck. 

It feels like a monumental victory, to be able to do such a thing, and suddenly Noland understands why so many people talk about the bond between mark sharers as something holy; no humanly possession – no gold or diamonds or land – could be sweeter than this.

“We should get you to bed,” Kalgara says.

Noland nods in assent, or at least he thinks he does. He can’t quite confirm what he says or does because the next time he has any awareness of himself, he’s lying beneath a heavy blanket wearing nothing but his pants. Turning to his side, he sees Kalgara lying on the bed with him.

The motion seems to wake him and a few seconds later Noland finds a bowl being pushed into his hands. “Drink. You have gone too long without water.”

Noland does as ordered, being handed a large piece of bread and cheese once he’s done drinking. “You made the bed larger,” is the first thing he comments after he’s finished eating.

“I had to if we were both to fit in here. Unless you’d rather me sleep on the ground?”

As Kalgara starts to lean back, Noland shoots out a hand and grabs his wrist, pulling him even closer. “You are perfectly fine right here.”

His reaction makes Kalgara laugh and lean forward until he and Noland are close enough to press their foreheads together. “How do you feel?”

“Like I swam through a hurricane,” he says, which is technically true. “But better already from the sleep and the food.”

Kalgara hums. “You are by yourself then?”

“Yes. It seems I misjudged the intentions of my King when I returned to Lvnnel. In the end, I had to leave everything behind and come on my own.”

“I’m sorry.” Kalgara pulls him even closer, kissing Noland’s cheek.

“If anyone should be sorry it’s me. Kalgara, the trees – I’m so sorry. We should have asked for permission before we cut them down. You have to believe me, we didn’t know they were sacred.”

“I should have spoken to you that day. I feel like a fool for assuming the worst without letting you explain what happened. It was my mistake.”

“We are both fools then.” A pause in which Kalgara’s nose rubs against his own, a small but intimate gesture that makes Noland feel warm for the first time in two months. “I’m still sorry.”

“As am I,” Kalgara says, finally kissing him. “But we can take this as a lesson to not assume things without asking first.”

“Agreed,” Noland replies, kissing him back, and the rest of the conversation is lost between their bodies.

After a few more hours of reconnecting with each other, sleeping on Kalgara’s new bed and sharing a few meals, Noland feels ready to go outside and apologize to everyone in the village for chopping their trees of embodiment.

“You don’t have to. We understand why you did it,” Kalgara says from the bed. He’s lounging fully naked while Noland walks around the room getting dressed in Kalgara’s clothes. None of his made the journey, unfortunately, though Kalgara doesn’t seem at all displeased about that.

“I know, but I want to say something. It’s the right thing to do.”

Kalgara hums in a way that seems to say ‘ _I don’t agree with what you’re doing, but I’ll humour you and let you do it anyway_ ’.

“Once you’re done getting dressed, will you braid my hair?” he asks, making Noland blush as he remembers the last time he received a similar request.

“Yes, of course.”

Noland takes his time braiding Kalgara’s hair, wanting to make sure he gets it right. Once he’s done, Kalgara flips the braid over his shoulder, so that his mark is on full display, which tugs at Noland’s heart.

It’s hard to resist tackling Kalgara on the bed and staying inside for a couple more hours, but in the end, Noland is true to his convictions and goes out to talk to everyone. He apologizes for cutting the trees even as people hug him and tell him they understand. By the time he’s finished, the sun has fallen below the horizon line and Noland is again so tired he can barely stand.

“I guess we won’t go to the city tonight, then,” Kalgara says. “I thought we could maybe watch the stars together.”

“Well,” Noland replies, and that’s how he finds himself on the receiving end of a long piggyback ride which has his entire body aching but is entirely worth it for the splendour of seeing the Golden City up close once again.

“You really didn’t have to apologize to everyone personally, you know. I’m sure a speech would have sufficed,” Kalgara says, making Noland roll his eyes from the comfort of the floor, which he is practically glued to.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life here — I need to make sure I’m in everyone’s good books. Don’t want to risk any secret enemies.”

“The rest of your life, huh?” Kalgara kneels down beside him, pushing open Noland’s tunic so he can look at Noland’s mark. Noland likes how he doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, just sees something that is his, now and forever, and takes it.

“Where else would I go?”

Kalgara kisses him. “Nowhere. I’m glad to have you here for as many days as you’ll give me.”

“Forever, then,” Noland says, as easily as one might say _the sky is blue_ or _I fancy rice for dinner_. Some words are like air, flowing through you without a second thought.

They wake up the next day, long after the sun has risen, and are walking towards the forest to hunt for breakfast when the ground starts to shake.

“Kalgara!” Noland shouts, even though there’s no need.

Instinct alone is enough for the two of them to run to each other at the notion of danger. They are together before Noland has time to take another breath, Kalgara leading them to the central plaza, away from the trembling buildings.

“It’s an earthquake,” Noland says, but Kalgara shakes his head.

“It’s more than that,” he says. Noland doesn’t have enough time to ask _what_ before an immense pressure shoots at the ground beneath their feet. In less than the blink of an eye they are airborne, shooting towards the clouds at neck-breaking speed.

It seems like an eternity passes by before the island stops flying, but in all likelihood it’s only a minute or so. Through it all, Kalgara’s grip on his hand is unwavering. Noland knows that even if the two them were shot through the sky and fell back into the ocean together, they would die as they lived, their bodies and fates tied together.

When the island finally lands, they see a world of white around them. _Clouds_ , Noland thinks, even though it is physically impossible for this to be happening. The island has flown into a sea of clouds.

For all he is disturbed, Noland at least has a lifetime of maritime voyages to strange new islands to give him some semblance of knowledge on the weird and mysterious. Kalgara, on the other hand, looks unbearably freaked out, so much so that Noland rushes to pull him closer. “Let’s go find the rest of the village. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

“Whatever happens, we stay together,” Kalgara says, making Noland smile. 

“Together,” he agrees, giving Kalgara’s hand a final reassuring squeeze before they walk out the city.

Wonderful art done by [Lufdraws](https://twitter.com/lufdraws) on twitter!

Wonderful art done by [Owlcito_](https://twitter.com/Owlito_) on twitter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and especially my good friend [Kite](https://twitter.com/kanjurostan) for all the love, support and feedback! Comments and kudos are, as always, deeply appreciated ❣
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](www.twitter.com/gisewaaa) and [tumblr](www.gisewaaa.tumblr.com) @gisewaaa


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